


The Room Where It Happens

by anything_thats_rock_and_roll



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Songfic, The Room Where It Happens, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anything_thats_rock_and_roll/pseuds/anything_thats_rock_and_roll
Summary: Aaron Burr wonders what Hamilton could possibly have done to secure a compromise from Jefferson and Madison.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson/James Madison
Kudos: 19





	The Room Where It Happens

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely hate myself for this, but my girlfriend suggested it and then I couldn't not write it...

“Ah, Mister Secretary,” Burr greets.

“Mister Burr, sir,” Hamilton inclines his head.

They exchange pleasantries, chat idly, smile in the right places. It’s dreadfully boring.

And then Burr asks, “Now how’re you gonna get your debt plan through?”

Hamilton’s mouth curves into a smile, or perhaps a grimace. “I guess I’m gonna finally have to listen to you: ‘Talk Less, Smile More’,” he imitates. “Do whatever it takes to get my plan on the Congress floor.” His tone is lighthearted, but there’s worry in his eyes. Then-

“Sorry Burr, I’ve got to go- decisions are happening over dinner.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Burr continues to stand in the cold for a long while after, wondering how the world could possibly have gotten so turned around.

_Two Virginians and an immigrant walk into a room. The immigrant emerges with unprecedented financial power._

What could Hamilton _possibly_ have given up to make that happen? The location of the nation’s capital is a cheap barter for complete financial control. More so, Madison and Jefferson are well known to be merciless in their hatred of that Caribbean upstart. Concession could not have come cheap.

_No one really knows how the game is played, the art of the trade, how the sausage gets made._

An image rises, unbidden, in Burr’s mind. Hamilton on his knees, finally, mercifully, shut up by the cock stuffed down his throat. Now there’s an idea.

_The pieces that are sacrificed in every game of chess._

Hamilton’s head snaps to the side as Jefferson pulls out abruptly, sends a ringing slap across his face. He hasn’t even caught his breath before thick ropes of come paint his face, stark white against the red imprint of Jefferson’s hand.

_The art of the compromise; hold your nose and close your eyes._

Hamilton, struggling to breathe through his nose, rocking back and forth as he’s impaled from both ends. Madison’s strong hands pulling his hips back to meet him, Jefferson’s sharp thrusts in counterpoint as Hamilton’s mouth slides forward.

_We don’t get a say in what they trade away._

Hamilton debauched, tied up and abandoned. Used and abused and discarded as Madison and Jefferson clean themselves up, rebuild the carefully maintained façade of poise and respectability.

_And no one else was in the room where it happened._

The next time Burr sees Hamilton, he’s glowing with triumph. But there’s something hollow in his countenance, at least to Burr’s eyes.

“You got more than you gave,” he remarks, fishing for a reaction.

“And I wanted what I got,” Hamilton’s voice is curt. “When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game, but you don’t get a win unless you play in the game,” he elaborates.

Is Burr imagining the suggestion there, the hint of bile in his voice? It ties his brain in knots, blurring the lines between fiction and reality.

And the thing is- there’s really no way to tell, is there? Not unless you happen to be there.

_I’ve got to be in the room where it happens._


End file.
